ne and to remove the stains of travel; but the words of the young
lady, and his own impatient eagerness, would suffer no delay. In the
late, luminous, and lamp-starred dusk of the summer evening he
accordingly set forward with brisk steps.

The street to which he was directed had first seen the day in the
character of a row of small suburban villas on a hillside; but the
extension of the city had, long since and on every hand, surrounded it
with miles of streets. From the top of the hill a range of very tall
buildings, densely inhabited by the poorest classes of the population
and variegated by drying-poles from every second window, overplumbed the
villas and their little gardens like a sea-board cliff. But still, under
the grime of years of city smoke, these antiquated cottages, with their
venetian blinds and rural porticoes, retained a somewhat melancholy
savour of the past.

The street, when Challoner entered it, was perfectly deserted. From hard
by, indeed, the sound of a thousand footfalls filled the ear; but in
Richard Street itself there was neither light nor sound of human
habitation. The appearance of the neighbourhood weighed heavily on the
mind of the young man; once more, as in the streets of London, he was
impressed by the sense of city deserts; and as he approached the number
indicated, and somewhat falteringly rang the bell, his heart sank within
him.

The bell was ancient, like the house; it had a thin and garrulous note;
and it was some time before it ceased to sound from the rear quarters of
the building. Following upon this an inner door was stealthily opened,
and careful and catlike steps drew near along the hall. Challoner,
supposing he was to be instantly admitted, produced his letter and, as
well as he was able, prepared a smiling face. To his indescribable
surprise, however, the footsteps ceased, and then, after a pause and
with the like stealthiness, withdrew once more, and died away in the
interior of the house. A second time the young man rang violently at the
bell; a second time, to his keen hearkening, a certain bustle of
discreet footing moved upon the hollow boards of the old villa; and
again the faint-hearted garrison only drew near to retreat. The cup of
the visitor's endurance was now full to overflowing; and, committing the
whole family of Fonblanque to every mood and shade of condemnation, he
turned upon his heel and redescended the steps. Perhaps the mover in the
house was watchin